


The Gentleness That Comes not from the Absence of Violence

by AleineSkyfire



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family Feels, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Padmé Amidala Lives, Parenthood, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Skywalker Family Feels, Trauma, body horror of the giving birth to babies variety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-24 20:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16646966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AleineSkyfire/pseuds/AleineSkyfire
Summary: ...but despite the abundance of it. In a galaxy gone mad, Padmé Amidala survives childbirth and takes her twins (and some friends) with her into hiding. Raising Jedi twins isn't easy, especially when you're juggling a million planetary rebellions and one great bit galactic rebellion on the side! And there's trauma always lingering in the background, just waiting for her to misstep and drown herself. The former Queen of Naboo is about to learn that sometimes just continuing to live can be the hardest and bravest thing one can do in this universe...NaNoWriMo 2018 WIP





	1. Crossroads

> _I am too young and I’ve loved you too much._  
>  — Fyodor Dostoevsky, _The Brothers Karamazov_

Padmé Amidala is drowning.

The agony of bringing her babies into the universe comprises almost her entire world, and only Obi-Wan’s presence keeps her grounded because it shouldn’t be Obi-Wan holding her hand _it should be Anakin_ and Anakin isn’t here, Anakin, her lovely husband, the father of her children, tried to kill her and their babies as well, as if he wasn’t Anakin anymore, as if someone else, some _monster_ , had been wearing her husband’s face and speaking with his voice and yet Obi-Wan’s words bounce around in her brain, _he killed younglings_ , and Anakin’s own words join in a horrible rhythm: _Not just the men, but the women, and the children, too. They were like animals, and I slaughtered them like animals_.

So Padmé lies on the birthing table, feeling with every contraction as if more of not only her life force but her very sanity is slipping away.

She’s in perfect medical health, the meddroids tell her, and she wants to scream at them that that is not so. Labor aside, the stress of the past few months and the trauma of Mustafar must surely be taking its toll, poisoning her heart. She is only human — how much is she expected to survive? What is these alien droids’ standard for a healthy human?!

She _does_ want to live… and even as she thinks that, gripped in yet another contraction, she knows that is not the exact truth. Everything she’s fought for, everything she’s devoted her life to… it’s gone now. _Palpatine_ has seen to that. The democracy for which she has fought so hard is dead. A tyrant now sits on a throne of his own making over the galaxy, and _her husband_ … her husband has _joined him_. For _her_ sake. _Murdering_ innocents. And then when she refused to go along with his madness, _he tried to murder her_.

Every gasp for breath hurts her throat, so, frankly, he gave it a pretty good shot.

The thought makes her want to giggle, and she would if she weren’t pushing through another contraction, and she wonders if this is what madness feels like?

It feels like an eternity, this horrible rhythm of her insides contracting and expanding as if they have a mind of their own, and despite the drugs she was given, it’s still agony and absolutely horrifying to feel her own body splitting itself open… And the normally calm and composed Senator and former Queen of Naboo finds herself screaming at Obi-Wan for being here with her when it should be Anakin, at Anakin for not being here, for going psychotic and hurting her, for _getting her pregnant in the first place how would he like to be the one doing this_ …

And at last she’s almost there, the meddroids tell her, she’s in the final stretch, and Obi-Wan, poor Obi-Wan who’s had his hand thoroughly crushed by now, is telling her that she can do this, she can push her babies out, she’s so close, just breathe…

Then she’s pushing, and ripping herself open, a little bit emptier now and oh no, no, no, she has to do this _one more time_ , the other twin is still inside her _how the hell is she supposed to do this again?!_

But she sinks back for the moment, resting because she has to before she make that push again, and the meddroid tells her, “It’s a boy,” and Obi-Wan is taking the baby, _her son_ , and bending down so she can see him.

She lifts a feeble hand to her baby’s damp head. “Luke,” she breathes reverently. Anakin’s native language — _Luke_ means _light_.

All too soon, it’s time to push again, and she wails, she’s not strong enough, she can’t do this, she can’t do this, she can’t… But somehow, she _does_ find the strength, and her once-full body suddenly feels totally empty, and no one ever warned her that she would feel _loss_ at the end of childbirth…

The second baby is a girl. She and Anakin had both been right; she had sensed Luke, and Anakin had sensed… “Leia.” That’s the name he’d wanted for their daughter, also from his homeworld, a figure woven deep in the tapestries of Tatooine tradition. _Leia_.

She feels exhausted, a weariness that penetrates every bit of her. “Padmé, hold on,” Obi-Wan urges. “Your children need you.”

“I… I don’t know… if…” She’s so tired. Can’t he see how tired she is? She needs to rest. She needs… needs to _forget_ … needs… needs…

“Padmé, _please_.” Bail. Bail is strong and brave and kind. Bail could be a good father to the twins, if she lets go now, couldn’t he? He and Breha want children, but Breha cannot bear children. They could adopt hers. Her babies would be safe and loved, and they would have parents who would raise them right. Better than she could, alone. Better than Anakin could now.

 _No_. She knows that voice. It’s the voice that told her to go with leave her occupied planet to go with the Jedi to speak to the Senate, that told her to return home to fight the Trade Federation, that tells her to resist the universe when the universe is wrong. Winama. The grandmother who passed away before the occupation. While her living grandmother Ryoo is the voice of wisdom in her head, Winama is the voice of strength, of standing fast and stepping up to fight.

Padmé eyes close of their own accord, and when they open again, she finds herself at Varykino on the balcony overlooking the lake, the one where she and Anakin were married. But Anakin isn’t there. Grandma Winama _is_ , standing at the balustrade, silver-black hair wound in a braid around her head. Padmé’s chest tightens as she realizes that her grandmother passed away when she was not much older than Padmé’s mother is now.

Winama does not smile when she sees her granddaughter. “Padmé,” she says evenly in greeting.

“Grandma…” Padmé rushes forward and throws her arms around the woman she hasn’t seen in half her own lifetime.

Winama wraps her arms around her granddaughter for a moment, then pulls back to look her in the eye. “Child, what are you doing here?”

Padmé shakes her head. “I don’t understand. I don’t know why — I was giving birth, to my babies…” She looks down at herself, and, sure enough, she _is_ wearing the medcenter gown. She doesn’t even know where the medcenter _is_ , just that it’s apparently far away enough from Coruscant to avoid unwanted attention.

Winama looks at her in concern. “Yes, you were.”

Padmé shakes her head again, confused and frightened by the feeling. She _always_ knows what’s going on around her — her grandmothers made sure to drill that lesson into her, to always be aware. “I don’t understand.”

Winama takes Padmé’s hands and squeezes them, urgency in her voice and her eyes. “You have to wake up now, Padmé. Your babies need you.”

Padmé steps back, withdrawing her hands from her grandmother’s. “Where am I? What’s going on?”

“You’re stronger than this, Padmé — ” and the younger woman cuts Winama off with a bitter laugh.

“I am _not_. I’m _tired_ , Grandma — the galaxy has just fallen entirely apart and my husband tried to kill me! What the _hell do you want me to do?!_ ” Padmé stops, her vision blurring. “Can’t I just… rest?”

Winama’s expression is full of remorse as she steps forward, raising her hand to cradle Padmé’s cheek. “Of course,” she says softly. “Of course, you can. My poor girl.”

At the tenderness, Padmé dissolves, falling into her grandmother’s arms and weeping. Winama holds her and strokes her back, not shushing her, letting her give in to the pain, the grief. _Anakin, why? I_ needed _you! I love you! Why did you do this? Palpatine, I never thought… I thought at least you were my_ friend _… Anakin, I love you. I loved you. Why…_

When at last Padmé’s sobs subside to hiccupping gasps, she looks up at Winama, silent gratitude in her eyes.

Winama looks solemn and sad. “Dear heart.”

“I can’t go back, Grandma, I can’t. I… I just… Everything is wrong… and I’m so tired…” _It’s not fair to the twins_ , her thoughts whisper, in a voice tinged with Grandma Ryoo’s inflections. _You chose to keep them, you wanted them… what will they do without their mother?_

Winama strokes her hair. “I can’t make the decision for you, dear heart. I wish I could.”

Stay, and move on with her grandmother, into the afterlife or the Force or whatever this is… or go back to the realm of the living. Where everything hurts now, and the people she loves can hurt her further.

But… the twins… _my babies_ …

Padmé tries to smile for her grandmother but can’t quite manage. Winama understands anyway and cups Padmé’s cheek in her hand again. “My poor, brave girl,” she murmurs.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Padmé whispers.

“No one does, dear heart, not even your new Emperor. All you can do is take things one day at a time. Sometimes, that’s the only way to get through life.”

Padmé swallows — her throat hurts again — and nods. And then Winama is beginning to dissolve, and Varykino around them, and Padmé calls out, “Thank you, Grandma!”

And alone now in darkness, she hears her grandmother respond: “You are very welcome. My Padmé.”


	2. Returning and Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has really stalled for me, so I'm hoping that throwing up what I have on AO3 will help, somehow? Be warned: I will probably try to edit this in the future.

She rises slowly to consciousness, and there’s a light behind her eyelids strong enough to make her feel uncomfortable without also making her feel she has to wake up sooner than she wants to. She drifts for a while, returning to the waking world gradually, and there’s a strange weight on her face when she does. She panics for a moment, but Obi-Wan is right there, assuring her that everything is all right, she is fine… and his blue eyes are bright with tears. _He’s been crying_. Poor Obi-Wan. Maybe he should have told Anakin he could cry. Maybe that would have helped.

“Padmé? Thank the Force you’re still with us.” He gives her a weak grin. “It would have been a tragedy if I’d had to raise these twins by myself.”

Padmé rasps a faint chuckle, and realizes that she’s wearing an oxygen mask. _Oh_. So _that’s_ how close she’d been to dying.

Then she realizes what’s missing. “Where are the twins?” Her voice continues to rasp, painfully.

“The meddroids have them — cleaning up and feeding and testing and putting to sleep. I’m told it’s standard procedure, even if the birth is a perfectly normal one.”

And this one was not. “Oh.”

Obi-Wan takes her right hand in both his hands and opens his mouth to speak, but Padmé frowns at what she feels. “How did you hurt your hand?” _Then_ she remembers: he had held her hand throughout the contractions, and she blushes. “I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan blushes, too. “It’s nothing, Padmé, really. It will heal quickly.”

She gives a minute nod. The silence begins to drag out uncomfortably, so she asks, “How long was I out?”

His lips compress into a thin line before he answers. “Nearly three hours. You flatlined. Bail claimed he was next of kin and told them to get you breathing again.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “ _Bail_ did that? And they went with it?”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “We’re far enough out here that they barely know the Clone Wars is —” he stops, pain and grief flashing across his face for a moment, then continues — “ _was_ happening, let alone that you two are esteemed Senators from different planets.”

“Where is here?”

“Polis Massa. Archeological base on an asteroid field, Subterrel sector.”

“That’s… pretty far.”

“Yes.”

They lapse into silence again. There’s too much between them now to converse easily; their friendship will never be the same again, if they even stay friends.

But there’s one thing Padmé still doesn’t know, and she needs to. “What happened, Obi-Wan? To Anakin? Where is he?”

The grief returns to the Jedi’s face in full force, and Padmé feels a pang of sympathy for him. Perhaps Obi-Wan didn’t do the best job of it, but he _did_ raise Anakin, and he loves him, she knows that.

Apparently, she knew that when Anakin didn’t.

“He…. he’s dead, Padmé. I’m sorry.”

“No…” Anakin couldn’t be dead, he _couldn’t_ , Padmé isn’t Force-sensitive but she would have _felt_ that, she knows she would have, she would _know_ …

“I saw him.”

“How…?” Her voice cracks.

He shakes his head, and she recognizes the look in his eyes — it’s a look she’s seen more times than she can count: what those eyes have seen is too horrible to give voice to.

She doesn’t know what to say, or how to feel. _Anakin is dead_. But he couldn’t be. _I’d know_.

_Just like you knew about what he’d become?_

She can’t hold back a whimper, and Obi-Wan’s face twists again. “I still love him,” she whispers.

“I know,” he whispers back. Does Obi-Wan still love Anakin? Does Anakin’s betrayal of him run deeper than his betrayal of Padmé? Can you quantify something like that?

Into the silence, Padmé speaks again. “Obi-Wan… would you take this mask off, please? I can breathe on my own.”

“Oh.” He suddenly looks awkward. “I should probably go ask…”

“Please?” She gives him her best pitiful eyes, which she has to imagine are only enhanced right now by her appearance — she’s sure she looks like a fright.

He sighs and moves forward to carefully disengage the apparatus, and Padmé sighs in relief at fresh air filling her lungs. Well, as fresh as air can be in a medcenter that’s on an atmosphereless asteroid.

“Thank you.”

Obi-Wan smiles weakly. “Let’s just hope the meddroids are — ”

Bail bursts into the room. “Obi-Wan, I need to — _Padmé_!” He rushes to her side, and she struggles to sit up. “You’re awake!”

“I’m fine,” Padmé rasps, unconvincing to her own ears. “I think I owe you my life.”

Bail blushes and looks down. “Yes, about that… I’m sorry, Padmé, but I couldn’t just — ”

It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to interrupt. “Senator, you needed to speak with me? Beg pardon, but you looked rather urgent just now.”

“Yes…” Bail looks awkwardly between Obi-Wan and Padmé. “It’s… it’s Master Yoda.”

Padmé manages to support her weight on her elbows. “Master Yoda is still alive?”

Bail nods. “He… I’m sorry, Padmé… He wants to have the twins separated. For their own safety.”

Padmé’s vision darkens for a moment, and then she slips into an icy calm, the internal body armor she needed as Queen and continues to use as a Senator. “I see.” Both men just visibly flinch. Good. “Bail? Would you be so good as to take me to him? I’m afraid you’ll have to help me walk.”

Bail hesitates, then bends down. “I can carry you, it will save time.”

Obi-Wan steps forward. “I can — ”

“Obi-Wan, if you’ll forgive my saying so, you hardly look like you can carry yourself,” Bail says dryly but not unkindly.

Deciding to forgo whatever dignity she’d find in hobbling along while leaning on Bail’s arm, Padmé reaches up for him, and he lifts her easily into his arms.

Obi-Wan clears his throat, and Padmé turns towards him. “May I… may I come with you?”

It’s going to get ugly, Padmé know it’s going to get ugly, but she can see that he already knows that, and he wants to come anyway. She nods. “Of course.”

He bows his head in return, and Bail sets off. They’re met with a few stares from passers-by in the corridor, and one of the meddroids who has been taking care of Padmé notices her out of bed and begins to make a fuss. Almost immediately, she hears Obi-Wan using the tone he employs for soothing tempers — they don’t call him _The Negotiator_ for nothing — and she tunes out. The droid is a distraction, and she needs to focus.

But her heart rises into her throat when Bail carries her into the nursery center, and there are two human babies side by side in their own medical cradles, snuggled into blankets and fast asleep, _her babies_ …

And there is Yoda standing in front of the cradles, watching them.

The diminutive Jedi Master turns towards them as they enter, blinking placidly. Padmé has to fight for calm as she murmurs to her friend, “Thank you, Bail. Would you please set me down?”

He grimaces in concern but complies, keeping an arm around Padmé’s shoulders to help her stay upright, and she gives him a glance of gratitude.

“Senator,” Yoda says in greeting. “Glad I am to see you still alive. Concerned, we all were, to lose you.”

“Thank you, Master Yoda,” Padmé says evenly with a tilt of her head. “But I wonder why you need me at all if you wish to split up my children.”

Bail’s arm tenses beneath her, and she can feel rather than see Obi-Wan’s shock.

Yoda is hardly fazed. “For their own safety, it would be. On them, everything depends.”

Padmé frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“Shielded from the Emperor, they must be, until old enough, they are, to stand against him.”

“I agree completely, but they will not be standing against him on _your_ terms, Master Jedi. They are my children, not yours.”

“My judgment, you must trust, Senator.” Padmé could almost laugh aloud — so _this_ is where Qui-Gon had gotten it from! “Strong are your children with the Force. To the Jedi, would they be entrusted.”

It’s true — under Republic law, the Jedi had the right to take Force-sensitive children into the Order, and Padmé feels a sudden rush of shame for never thinking to question that law until she had discovered her pregnancy. She’d known there was an even chance that her child would be Force-sensitive thanks to Anakin, and she had, in her off hours, been preparing to fight for custody of the baby once they were born. Selfish, and blind, of her, not to give that law so much as a second thought until she was in the position of the people being harmed by it.

“Under Republic law, you’re right,” says Padmé, an edge to her voice. “But the Republic no longer exists, thanks to Palpatine. Who, by the way, now has unrestricted access to the system _you_ put in place to find Force-sensitive children.” She hears Obi-Wan’s sharp intake of breath, and Yoda’s eyes widen — neither of them had thought of this yet. Her voice cracks as she continues. “How many children are now in mortal danger because of it?”

“And there’s no way to stop it,” Obi-Wan murmurs in horror. “Every medcenter in the Republic — the Empire — has the technology to test for midi-chlorians, and all healers and meddroids know they have to run those tests.”

Padmé looks over her shoulder at him. “I’m sorry,” she says softly, sincerely. Then she turns back to Yoda, slipping back into her political persona. “There are thousands of children out there at risk as of the moment Palpatine declared all Jedi enemies of the state. I recommend that you focus your efforts on helping _them_ , and leave the responsibility of protecting my children, who are at far less risk, to me.”

The Jedi’s large ears droop. “Lost, those younglings may already be.”

Padmé shakes her head. “They remain your responsibility.”

“As do your younglings.”

Padmé bursts out laughing. She can see the men around her looking at her in concern — her laugh sounds high and bitter and tinged with hysteria to her own ears — but she can’t help it. Still laughing, she looks Yoda in the eye. “Forgive me, Master Jedi, but it’s really rather amusing. It’s astonishing, frankly, the depth of your presumption regarding the welfare of my children or anyone’s children, really.” The laughter fades, and her voice hardens. “You have no right to Luke and Leia or to any other child in this galaxy, anymore. The best you can do, at this point, is save as many children as you can from a man who already knows they exist. I will keep my babies, and raise them, and you will have absolutely no say in how I do that.”

Yoda’s shoulders hunch, and Padmé _almost_ pities him, burdened as he is by responsibility and… guilt. Guilt is the emotion she’d picked up from him at the start of this conversation that she couldn’t identify until now.

Anakin made his own choices, but she doesn’t doubt for one moment that Yoda and the Jedi Order helped him towards those choices. And she will not allow that same person to have a hand in the raising of her children.

“Skywalker’s stubbornness, you share. Need my help, you may, before long — my comm channel, I shall leave you. Right are you about one thing: protect the younglings I should, if possible it is.”

Senator and Jedi Master exchange bows, and Obi-Wan steps forward. “Shall we brainstorm, then, Master?”

Yoda snorts and jabs his cane at his colleague. “Brainstorm, _I_ shall. Sleep, should you, for no sleep have had you in too long.”

Obi-Wan hesitates, glancing at Padmé, then gestures for Yoda to follow him out into the hall. The door shuts behind them, and Padmé breathes a sigh of relief.

Bail also sighs, shaking his head. “Padmé…”

She arches an eyebrow. “Did I say anything _wrong_ , Bail?”

“No…” He sighs again. “No. But you’re going to have to spend a lot of time in bed to recover from all the energy you expended just now.”

“It was worth it.” She can, however, feel her legs weakening further, her heart beating rapidly, her body chilled now that it is no longer warmed by adrenaline. “I want to see them first, though.”

He nods, and leads her to the cradles. She leans down and stares back and forth between her babies — her _babies_ , her own children — red and clean and tiny… and so beautiful they take her breath away. She presses her hand to the transparisteel of Luke’s cradle, and he stirs without waking.

“Bail,” she breathes reverently, “they’re _perfect_.”

“Yes. Yes, they are.” He draws her back to him, and she has to wipe away sudden tears. “They’ll be safe, Padmé. Let’s get you back to bed.”

“I don’t want to leave them. I know they’re safe… I just… don’t want to leave them.”

“I know.” His voice is gentle, and kind, and Padmé feels warmth bubbling up inside her, gratitude for his friendship and for his help. He rubs her arms soothingly. “Come along, Senator Amidala. Your babies will still be here when their mother has had a rest.”

* * *

Her dreams, however, are far from restful. She’s running — Theed Palace morphs into the Galactic Senate into Varykino into Geonosis into… she’s not sure. A ship, she thinks, maybe a Star Destroyer. And Anakin’s voice is calling her name, sometimes vengeful, sometimes pleading, but she can’t stop, she can’t let him catch her, she can’t let him know about the twins…

Padmé wakes to find the meddroids fussing around her again, the only other occupants in the room. Where are Bail and Obi-Wan? _Getting sleep, probably_.

She turns to the nearest droid and clears her throat. “Excuse me?”

The droid pauses in processing a readout and looks up at her. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Could… could my babies be brought in, please? Or could I go see them?”

The droid pauses. “We have to finish running some tests, but afterwards, that should be possible.”

Padmé relaxes back into her bed. “Thank you.”

Once the droids are done with their readouts, Padmé has to be helped to the ’fresher — why oh _why_ does pregnancy involve so much _fluids?!_ — and cleaned up and given a fresh medcenter gown, after being informed that she has already had a gown replaced on her while she was unconscious and hooked up to the oxygen tank. Given the amount of… well, she _really_ doesn’t want to think about it, but the gown she gave birth in must have been _messy_ , and she can’t find it in her to be more than a little embarrassed about having her clothes changed on her like that.

Not long after she’s back in bed (and grateful for it, between muscle fatigue and… postnatal ickiness), the door hisses open, and two very familiar figures enter the room. “Dormé!” Padmé gasps. “Captain Typho!”

“Milady!” Dormé rushes to Padmé’s bedside, then hesitates. Padmé stretches her arms out in invitation, and her handmaiden embraces her fiercely. “Milady, we were so worried!”

“I’m sorry,” Padmé whispers, looking over Dormé’s shoulder at Typho, who stands back respectfully. He nods to her, his face grim, and her heart sinks. “How did you find me?”

“Senator Organa commed me,” Typho replies. “He gave me the coordinates, and I decided to bring Dormé with me.”

“I’m glad he did,” says Dormé, releasing Padmé at last and perching on the edge of the bed. “What in the galaxy happened to you?”

Padmé opens her mouth, then closes it and shakes her head. “That has to wait for the moment.” She turns to the droids. “Pardon my impatience, but are you nearly done yet?”

“We are,” says the droid she spoke with earlier. “Do you wish for privacy?”

“Yes, please. Give me half an hour, and then you can bring my babies in.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The droids take their leave, and Dormé stares after them, wide-eyed. “ _Babies?_ ”

Padmé smiles ruefully. “Twins.”

Dormé shakes her head. “Trust _you_ not to do anything by halves!”

Padmé chuckles faintly, then returns her attention to Typho, sobering again. “Captain, you could be in danger just being here… I need to go into hiding — I can’t imagine that Palpatine will want me at liberty, or even alive.”

Typho’s expression grows even more grim. “No, he doesn’t. The majority of the Delegation of Two Thousand has been rounded up and imprisoned on charges of treason.”

Padmé’s hand flies to her mouth, her chest constricting. She should have thought… “We made it so easy,” she whispers. “A petition with the names of the Senators who opposed his power… _we made it so easy for him_.”

Dormé shakes her head. “Milady, you couldn’t have known things would get this bad.”

Typho nods. “No one could have suspected what Palpatine was really up to until it was too late. The fault does not lie with you or Senator Organa or anyone else on that list.”

“Bail! What about him — are they going to arrest him, too?”

“From what I can tell, no. I’m no politician, but despite the fact that Palpatine just declared himself Emperor of the known galaxy, I don’t think even he would try to imprison the consort of the monarch of a Core World. At least, not this early in the game.”

Padmé nods weakly. “You’re right, I’m sure. Still, Bail needs to be cautious.”

Dormé turns to Typho. “And what do _we_ do, Captain?” Because, of course, they have on their hands one of the leaders of the Two Thousand, who has also just given birth to a Jedi’s children.

Typho sighs and looks to Padmé. “Milady… I think that for once we might be in agreement concerning your safety.”

Padmé smiles ruefully. “I think so, Captain. I know what I should do.” She closes her eyes, shame welling up inside her. “But I have to let my people down to do it.”

“You’ll find a way to continue to serve our people, I have no doubt. But you cannot help them if you are in prison or dead.”

Padmé bows her head, bites her lip, and nods. “I know,” she whispers, opening her eyes. “I can’t keep the twins, either, unless I go into hiding. Master Yoda says they’re strong in the Force — Palpatine will go after them once he knows about them.”

Typho nods solemnly. “I think, Senator, it’s time to use the doll.”

Dormé shudders. “That awful thing?”

Padmé sits up straighter — she’d forgotten about the doll! “We had it made for this exact reason, Dormé. If there was ever an extreme circumstance in which I needed to fake my death.”

Typho’s one eye is fixed on her. “You agree, then?”

Padmé almost says _yes_ , then hesitates. Mom… Dad… Sola… the girls… Grandma Ryoo… what will this loss do to them? _Exactly what it will do if Palpatine finds you_. She sighs heavily and nods. “Yes, Captain, I agree.”

He bows his head. “Thank you, milady.”

Dormé turns back to Padmé. “But what will you do, milady? Where will you go?”

Padmé shakes her head, beginning to feel overwhelmed. “I’m not sure, just yet.”

“You don’t need to decide right now,” says Typho, “but you do need to make a plan soon.”

“I will,” she nods wearily, “I will. I do, unfortunately, need a little time — you would not believe how the past… how many days? three?... have played out for me.”

Typho pulls up a chair for himself. “We do have a little time.”

Padmé’s face twists. “I’m not sure… I’m not sure I can…”

Dormé takes her hand in her own, her lovely features full of concern. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Padmé takes a shaky breath. “No… no, I should. I know I should.” She looks between her loyal bodyguards and continues, “Please, don’t be angry with him.”

Typho shakes his head. “With Kenobi?”

“No… well, yes, actually, him, as well — don’t be angry with him either.” Her voice drops to a whisper again. “I meant Anakin.”

* * *

Dormé is speechless at the end of Padmé’s halting account of Mustafar. Typho, however, has gone into complete lockdown, no trace of emotion in his expression… which Padmé knows from previous experience means he is well and truly furious.

“How could he?” Dormé asks finally.

Padmé hangs her head. “I don’t know.” It’s not quite the truth, but she doesn’t know how to untangle in her own mind the things she knows about Anakin that might have brought him to the point where he could make such horrific choices, much less give voice to them. “Obi-Wan —” her voice cracks — “Obi-Wan says he saw Anakin… he saw Anakin die. He won’t say how.”

“Good,” Typho says shortly, and Padmé flinches, bracing herself for the storm. Her chief of security stands. “I know you loved him, Senator, but there is nothing in the universe that can justify what he did — to you, to anyone.” He half-turns away, lip curling in disgust. “And I _trusted_ him with your safety.”

Padmé shakes her head, heart beating rapidly. “Captain, please, you can’t blame yourself. You… he…” She can’t think straight, her head feels light, and her heart won’t slow down, her pulse throbbing in her ears. Distantly, she feels arms wrap around her, and Dormé’s voice soothing her, telling her to calm down, she’s okay, just breathe, just breathe, she’s going to be all right, just breathe…

As Padmé regains awareness, she finds her handmaiden glaring at Typho. “That’s enough, Captain. She’s been through too much to deal with this right now.”

“She _has_ to deal with it, Dormé!”

“Yes, but _not right now_. You’re a soldier; you’ve seen people suffering from trauma. If you don’t want to lose her, you’re going to be gentle with her and not force her to deal with _anything_ before she’s ready to.”

“My hero,” Padmé murmurs, giving the older woman a faint smile.

Dormé gives her a watery smile in return. “My pleasure.”

There’s a knock on the door, and a voice calls, “Padmé, are you awake? May we come in?”

“Bail! Yes, come in!”

The door hisses open to reveal Bail _and_ Obi-Wan, and… she hears Dormé’s sharp intake of breath, but Padmé only has eyes now for the bundles in the men’s arms, and stretches her arms out for them… Then they’re being placed carefully in her hold, one on either arm, and she doesn’t realize that she’s been holding her breath until she’s holding them both, warm and sleeping and utterly perfect.

And for one moment, there is no pain, no grief — only the joy of holding her babies at last.

She drags her gaze away from her children and looks up at her friends past her tears. “Thank you.”

Obi-Wan looks more on the verge of tears than she’s ever seen him, even while grieving for his master, and he nods wordlessly.

Bail smiles and murmurs, “You’re welcome,” then looks up at Typho. “Captain, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Thank you for contacting me, Senator. We were all worried.”

Bail turns to Dormé. “Ah, and Dormé.” He takes her hand and bows over it, ever the consummate gentleman. “A pleasure to see you, though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“As do I.” Dormé glances back at the babies, eyes full of wonder. “Thank goodness there is some light left in the galaxy.”

“Luke and Leia,” says Padmé, and then she chuckles ruefully. “I don’t know right now which is which.”

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “Luke is on your left, Leia on your right.”

She smiles in thanks, and bends over to lightly kiss each small, soft forehead, inhaling their sweet scent. “You are so beautiful,” she whispers.

Dormé rises from the bed. “All right, you lot,” she says to the men, “out with you now.” She makes shooing motions, her tone brooking no argument. “Let the mother have her privacy.”

The three men obey, shuffling awkwardly out of the room, Typho casting dark looks at Obi-Wan, and Dormé sighs as the door hisses shut behind them. But when she turns to Padmé, she smiles in satisfaction.

“Aren’t _you_ going to let me have my privacy?” Padmé teases.

“Not unless you want to try breastfeeding twins entirely on your own when they rouse up.”

Padmé’s eyes widen. “Oh, right.”

Dormé nods. “Now, I’ve never seen a woman nurse twins, but I remember well enough my mother nursing my little brother. I think we can manage.”

Padmé smiles, tears pricking her eyes again. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d have three men trying to help you nurse your children instead.”

They burst out laughing the awkward mental image, and it feels so good to be laughing again. Padmé can’t remember how long it’s been since she laughed, and tears start to mingle with the laughter.

“Oh, milady, no, I’m sorry.” Dormé’s expression is instantly full of remorse. “I should be helping you keep your emotions stable right now.”

“No… no, I needed this. I’m all right, I promise.” Still, Padmé struggles to stop the tears, and the twins begin to rouse.

Dormé comes forward and lays her hands on Padmé’s shoulders, rubbing them gently. “Shhhh. It’s time to see what your babies want.”

As it turns out, Luke and Leia just want to go back to sleep. Padmé swallows the disappointment of not seeing her children’s eyes open and rocks Leia in bed while Dormé rocks Luke.

“Don’t worry, milady,” Dormé murmurs. “They’ll wake soon enough, and often, especially at night, and then you’ll wish they _were_ sleeping.”

“I know… It’s just that I’ve barely seen them since they’ve been born.”

Dormé nods in understanding. “Would you like me to leave you alone with them?”

Padmé hesitates. On one hand, she has not had a single moment alone with her children, and on the other hand, there _are_ two of them, and Dormé’s original point remains: she hasn’t nursed them yet and she’s not sure how to feed both of them. “If… if you don’t mind staying…”

Dormé smiles and sinks into the chair Typho used earlier. “Of course not — that’s what I’m here for.”

Padmé has to blink back tears again, and she gives a self-deprecatory laugh. “I’m sorry, my emotions really are all over the place right now.”

Dormé smiles sympathetically. “One of the joys of new motherhood, unfortunately. It won’t last forever, milady; you don’t have to be hard on yourself.”

Of course, that only brings fresh tears to Padmé’s eyes, and she groans even as she smiles back. “I’ll try to remember that.”

* * *

When Luke and Leia finally start to rouse again, both in their mother’s arms now, it’s Leia who wakes first. Padmé holds her breath as her daughter looks up at her with dark marble-blue eyes, tiny lips puckering, brows furrowing… Luke opens his eyes, the same shade of blue, and Padmé wonders whether they’ll share eye color in the future and whether they’ll look more like Anakin or more like her…

Leia starts to fuss, and Dormé comes forward. “It might be feeding time now. Let me take Luke — I’m not sure you can nurse more than one at a time.”

“Okay.” Padmé reluctantly lets go of her son, who is echoing his sister only half-heartedly, thank goodness, and works to open up her gown, this one thankfully opening up in front as well as in back. Leia continues to fuss, and Padmé murmurs, “It’s all right, little one, I’m working on it.” Heart pounding, she moves Leia up and close, and the baby quickly latches on. Padmé gasps at the sensation, and Dormé winces.

“Are you all right, milady?”

“I’m sure… I’ll be… fine,” Padmé grits out, eyes wide. “Dammit, Leia, can you please take it easy on your poor mother?”

Luke starts to fuss in earnest now, and Dormé rocks him, sighing. “We should probably try to set up feeding schedules, have some formula on hand… I need to do some HoloNet research on how to handle human twin babies.”

Padmé hisses as her daughter feeds quietly now, content and blissfully unaware of her mother’s discomfort. “You’re talking like you’re going to stay with me when I go into hiding properly.”

Dormé raises both eyebrows. “Forgive me, milady, but… you were planning on doing this alone?”

Padmé blushes. “I don’t know. I don’t have a plan just yet.”

Dormé nods as she rocks Luke more energetically, somehow managing to keep him from crying outright. “That’s what I thought. Milady, you need more help than Threepio can provide.”

 _Threepio!_ Padmé’s eyes widen in guilt — she’d completely forgotten about her faithful companion — but Dormé is still speaking.

“You can’t — you _shouldn’t_ — do this alone. Besides which, I took an oath, Senator — an oath that I would serve and protect you. And help you in any way I can when you need it.” The older woman looks at Padmé pleadingly. “I _want_ to help.”

Padmé shakes her head slowly, having to swallow tears again. “I can’t… I can’t ask that of you.”

“You don’t have to!”

“Anybody who comes with me and my children is going to be in danger.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to end up like Cordé!” Leia breaks off from her feeding, and both twins start to cry.

But Dormé holds Padmé’s gaze steadily even as she tries to soothe Luke. “I’ll do my best not to. But that’s _my_ choice to put myself in that kind of danger, just as it was hers.” As Padmé opens her mouth, Dormé cuts her off: “I miss her, too, Padmé!” She softens her voice. “After all this time, I still miss her. But she would have been offering to come with you, too, if she were here, knowing the risks, knowing the whole galaxy would be against her. It’s going to be difficult, I know that. Lonely. But I made a promise, and, Padmé, you tell me how I’d be able to look my reflection in the eye if I broke that promise now, because I don’t know how I would, knowing that I’d allowed the most important person of my life to go off alone into danger when she needed someone to have her back.”

Padmé tries to speak, but no words come to her, just an ache and also a relief that washes from her tense shoulders on down her body that she doesn’t have to face the next few years, however they pan out, alone. She lost her husband, but she’s not going to lose one of her dearest friends. Her vision blurs fiercely, and she doesn’t resist when Dormé puts Luke back in her arms and takes Leia.

“You’re stuck with me, milady,” Dormé says quietly, warmly, “whether you like it or not.”


End file.
